


How Jensen gets 'game' or the lessons that Darcy teaches him about flirting

by KByrd



Series: Adventures in Flirting [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Losers (2010), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy decides to teach Jensen some much needed lessons about women and flirting 'cause otherwise he's just a menace to womankind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm on a bit of a Chris Evans kick, I saw the Losers the other day. Hugely entertaining although not great by any means. A plot bunny sank its teeth into me though - I just felt like I had to write something about how awkward Jensen is with the ladies. I know most fan fiction has him paired with Cougar and I don't know if that's canon in the comics or because of the dearth of well developed lady characters in the fandom (will rant about that later), but I had an idea for him in a straight relationship. I came this close to writing in an original female character and facing accusations of adding a Mary Sue, but then I remembered Darcy from Thor. There's no good reason for her being in this story except that she has the right mix of sass and spunk and sex appeal, but I invited her over anyways.
> 
> Had to write this in a hurry so excuse the errors. I'm back to work now so I won't be able to write anything for ages.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it now that my bunny has stopped nipping at my ankles.

They leave Jensen behind for this mission because for one, it is just surveillance (not his strong suit) and two, he's just burnt both hands in an explosion and is pretty much good for nothing.

Hence he is lying, half asleep in a drug induced twilight sleep when they return, arguing among themselves in loud, irritated voices. Dimly he figures out that they have brought someone else back with them - a person tied up and sneered at, but as far as he can tell from the background noise, not someone they are really angry at.

Jensen wakes up early in the pre dawn morning when the drugs wear off. He knows better than to take any more pills so he rolls off the couch and staggers clumsily to his feet.

"Hey," someone hisses at him. "Hey there."

He yawns and peers blearily at a woman - seriously a woman in their safe house - tied to a chair.

"Um?" he says dimly, trying to kick start his brain into functioning.

"Come and untie me," she orders him fiercely. "I have to pee, like desperately."

"Um, OK?" he says faintly. "Hold on."

With minimal use of his hands which are both bandaged heavily, he grabs one of Roque's knives and positions himself to slash clumsily at the plastic ties fastening her wrists to the back of the chair.

"Watch it," she grumbles. "I don't want to come all this way to end up bleeding to death 'cause you accidently cut my wrist."

"Yeah, yeah," he answers. The knife slices through the plastic like it was made of butter and the carry through just about takes off his nose. "Yikes!"

"Thanks," the woman says quickly, jumping up, rubbing her wrists. She makes a beeline for the bathroom.

"Hey, hold on just a moment," he calls to her.

"Can't wait," she responds, "You want to chat, come join me in the bathroom, but I gotta go now before I embarrass myself."

He follows her into the bathroom and she leaves the door wide open. She is unfastening her jeans as she goes and part of his brain registers that that is pretty hot, but another part of his brain reminds him of Aisha's escape tactics and he figures he should keep an eye on her.

"Would you mind?" she snarls at him.

"Oh yeah," he mutters, stopping in the doorway and turning his back to her so he isn't really watching her directly, just keeping an eye on the top of her head through the mirror.

He can hear everything from her sigh of relief to the ... well ... everything. He waits until she flushes and is washing her hands before he turns around.

"So who are you exactly?" he asks.

"Darcy. And you?"

"Jensen. What are you doing here?"

"Reconnaissance," she answers blandly, which doesn't really explain anything. "Didn't realize that you guys were here, but if you're willing, I mean if the other guys are willing, I have a proposal which is win-win."

"I've heard that before," he says idly, wondering what Roque's opinion will be of yet another hair brained scheme proposed by a woman.

"What's with your hands?"

He holds them up, bandaged so heavily he might as well be wearing oven mitts. "Burnt them in an explosion."

"Ouch," she sympathizes with a scrunch of her nose.

"Hurts like hell," he agrees glumly.

He looks a little closer at his guest. She is young - maybe early twenties, of medium height with long, curly dark hair and a cute pixie face, luscious lips and a ski jump nose. She is curvy without being chubby, with nice breasts shown off by the tight, v-necked T-shirt she is wearing.

Jensen is suddenly very uncomfortable and so he reverts to his usual behaviour when confronted with a pretty girl - he starts to talk very fast about nonsensical things. 

He follows her back into the kitchen babbling about being the team's tech guy - I am the one that hacks into places, I mean virtual sites, HR files, bank accounts, not for fun, of course, although I could do it for fun, just business and just for bad guys ...

She eyes him warily as she rifles through the cupboards.

"Got anything for breakfast?" she asks.

"What? No. Not much unless you like cornbread, which is fine if you like that kind of thing, but not day after day and not for breakfast ..."

"Do you ever stop talking?" she asks, looking amused.

"No," he answers truthfully, "which is another reason I wasn't on the mission last night, well mostly because of these ..." He holds up his hands, "but also because I make too much noise, like talking about my favourite shows or whatever when everyone else is trying to concentrate."

She regards him with something like amusement but might have been scorn.

He yawns.

"Why don't you lie down on the couch?" she suggests gently. "You look beat."

He is, so he does, but he keeps up a running commentary on what he did and didn't like about where they were which segued into a discussion of some of the more interesting places he'd travelled to ... -have you ever been to Vietnam? Gorgeous ...

At some point he must have fallen asleep because he wakes to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of someone yelling at him in fury.

Not an uncommon way to wake - at the yelling that is. Bacon is rare though.

He forces his eyes open and peers blearily at Roque standing at the foot of the couch.

"Did you fucking well cut her loose last night?" he is roaring.

Belatedly it occurs to Jensen that maybe he should have taken more care to make sure that someone who had been tied up was secured in some way before he fell asleep. Oops.

"Err ..." he stalls.

Then he looks over at the kitchen and spies Darcy wearing an apron over her T-shirt and jeans, frying bacon on the stove.

"She's right there," he points out.

"This is as domestic as you're ever going to see me," she is warning someone while she waves a spatula in the air. "Normally I'm known as the resident slob, but you boys put me to shame. Next to you, I'm like fucking Martha Stewart."

Jensen climbs to his feet well aware that he is grimy and sweaty and that his hair is probably sticking up, but there is BACON.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Roque is starting again, his voice getting louder as if it were lack of volume that made conversations with Jensen difficult.

"What's the problem?" Jensen asks. "She's right here, isn't she? She can't have been difficult to recapture."

Darcy snorts; Roque looks furious. His eyes bulge.

Jensen gets close enough to the stove to reach out and snatch a piece of sizzling bacon. Darcy smacks the back of his hand, but half heartedly as if she'd expected it.

Roque hisses. "She left," he explains tightly. "And she walked down to the town, bought food and walked BACK. No-one even knew she'd left."

"So?" Jensen asks, mystified at the anger now.

Bacon isn't the only thing cooking. In the second frying pan, there is an enormous yellow mess that could only be scrambled eggs - from real eggs! and Cougar is sitting on the other side of the counter supervising a stack of bread. As each pair of sliced bread pops out of the toaster, he slathers them with copious amounts of butter and adds them to a growing tower of toast.

"We didn't know - still don't know really if he is who she says she is and if the deal she's cooking up is legit. We were going to keep her contained until we knew."

Entirely unable to keep track of such logic, Jensen just reaches for another piece of bacon.

Clay appears, scratching at his belly and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Do I smell bacon?"


	2. Chapter 2

Siesta makes sense in these hot, humid countries.

You can't do much in the heat of the afternoon, especially once you've eaten a large midday meal as is the custom. So you doze and lounge around until it cools off (ever so slightly) in the evening and then you can stay up even longer at night because you're not quite so tired.

So post siesta, the rest of the team has cleared out because apparently they're working on a mission, only they're waiting to hear from some mysterious benefactor as to how it's going to go down, so they've wandered off to do more surveillance, leaving Jensen alone with fresh wrapped hands and nothing to do.

Not like anything could go wrong in that scenario.

So when Darcy wanders in, she's not entirely surprised to hear Jensen swearing a blue streak even though he's all alone in the upstairs bathroom.

She knocks. "Everything alright in there?" she asks.

"Just fine, wonderful, peaches and cream," he snarls.

"I'm sensing some sarcasm," she says lightly.

He flings open the door, looking irritated, which surprises her since up to now, she's only really seen him slightly stoned, dozy and relentlessly cheerful.

"Ever been burnt?" he demands. "Know what it feels like to get blistery, burned hands wet?"

"Stings like a bugger," she answers. "What the hell are you doing?"

Because he's wearing nothing but boxers and a tank top on, and bizarrely, rubber gloves over his bandaged hands.

"Trying to get clean," he snaps, "or at least marginally less disgusting than I am currently because I can't remember the last time I had a shower and I'm beginning to itch."

"Gross," she makes a face.

"It's hot and humid and I think I hate this climate," he bitches. "And my hands are killing me. Not working here."

He waves the gloved appendages around and Darcy stifles a giggle.

"Why don't you just ask for help?" she suggests.

"From whom?" he grumbles. "From the friendly neighbourhood nurse willing to give me a sponge bath? Seen anyone like that around here?"

"You need a real bath, not just a sponge bath, " she tells him, sniffing. "You are a bit ripe."

"Not helping," he complains.

"So just run a bath," she suggests, "and kind of sluice around a bit. Better than nothing."

"And the hair?" he demands, rather petulantly, "not to mention the itch between my shoulder blades" - he twitches - "and I was always taught to wash behind my ears."

She sighs. "So help me God, I'm only to going to offer once so listen up. Get in the bath and I will - I must have heat stroke to say this - but I will wash your hair."

He stares at her, momentarily struck dumb and then grins, a great delighted, shit-eating grin that has her immediately regretting her offer.

She wags her finger warningly at him. "And no funny business. Not only do I not want to get wet, but I have a reputation to uphold and if it gets out that I did this stupid thing ..." 

"Very nice, very sweet thing ..." he blurts out.

"Yeah well, let's not tell anyone, shall we?" she hisses at him.

She leaves the bathroom even as he's already peeling off his shirt and trying to get the water started in the bath (because who would do one thing at a time when one can multi task?).

She goes back in when he calls her, kind of wondering what nonsense he'll be up to but he's sitting obediently in the enormous ruby red claw footed bathtub with his absurd gloved hands hanging over the edge. It's the ugliest bathroom Darcy has ever been in, all white and green tiles, some cracked, some mouldy, with black framed windows and this ridiculous tub right in the middle of the room.

She takes the showerhead in hand and he tips his head back obligingly so she can soak his hair and lather it up.

"Oh man that feels good," he groans theatrically as she digs her fingernails in.

"Shut up," she tells him.

But he keeps going, groaning and moaning in the most obscene way. "Oh please don't stop, oh yeah, there, that feels so good ..."

"Quit it or I'll leave you like this and then where will you be?" she threatens.

"Halfway to heaven," he sighs blissfully.

She rinses his hair off and half shaking her head at herself, takes a kind of loofah sponge and starts to scrub his back.

"That's so nice," he murmurs in a salacious manner, "keep going would you?"

"You're such an idiot," she says.

"I thought women liked it when men told them what they liked," he says in mock surprise. "Oh, is it the other way around? Tell me what you like."

"I kinda wish you'd shut up for half a moment," Darcy answers grimly.

He sits up a bit straighter. "Do my front too?" he suggests with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Nope," she says firmly, handing him the loofah, "you're on your own there."

"I feel cleaner, but still scruffy," he says idly, "and I'm gonna leave one hell of a ring around this oh so lovely bathtub."

"You are pretty scruffy," she agrees, eying the raggedy goatee and several days' worth of stubble on his jaw.

"Can't shave," he points out, waving his gloved hands around. "Not enough grip."

"Want me to shave you as well?" she hears herself offer. Idiot.

"Would you?"

"You'll have to stop talking while I do it," she warns him, "or I'll cut your throat. Maybe even accidently."

She leaves the bathroom until he's finished and she can hear the bathtub draining.

"Can I come in now?" she calls out to him. "Ready for me?"

She hears him grunt something that she takes as agreement so she marches in. And stops. He's standing with his back to her rummaging through a drawer. He's wearing jeans and nothing else. His bare back is pink and scrubbed and his damp hair has been toweled, but is standing up in all directions.

She hadn't realized until now, even before when she was scrubbing his back, ... how well built he is and she takes a moment to wonder how a tech loving nerd got so ... muscular.

He's such a geeky, nerdy kind of guy, slouching around the house in ill fitting unfashionable clothes and weird round glasses and kind of scuffling and scuttling, that she hadn't even noticed his body.

He turns around with a grin and offers her a razor, the same type of handle and replaceable blades that she uses herself for her legs and a can of cheap foam.

"I was looking for something better, but looks like this is all we've got."

"It'll do," she assures him.

He's tall. How had she not noticed this before? And broad shouldered with great biceps and a muscular chest, rock hard abs and a fair bit of nice, curly chest hair. He's not monkey hairy which is a real turn off, but Darcy likes her men to be masculine, not all metrosexual and waxed to shiny perfection.

He sits obligingly on the toilet with the seat down and lifts his chin trustingly. It occurs to Darcy that she's never shaved a guy before, but she's done her own legs often enough. How difficult can this be, really?

She sprays a bit of foam onto her hand and then carefully lathers up his face.

"What's your name?" she asks idly, "I mean, your first name?"

"Jacob," he answers, "but most people call me Jake or JJ. Hey, leave the sideburns, OK? And the goatee."

"Seriously?" she says.

"I like them," he answers defensively, "they're kind of part of my personal style."

She snorts at that, but obeys the directive.

She has to stand very close in order to get a good angle and she's very careful not to nick him, especially when she's working on his throat.

Despite her threats, he keeps talking. Apparently even the possibility of bloodshed, can't keep him quiet.

He babbles on about his love of various technology ... something about how Steve Jobs snookered everyone into a system that really sucks whereas Linus ... eventually she stops trying to makes sense of what he's saying and just tries to time the stroke of the blade for pauses in his prattle.

She finishes and stands back to admire her handiwork. Would look a whole bunch better if she'd been allowed to trim the scraggly tuff on his chin, but otherwise, not too shabby.

She's been letting his inane babble wash over her, but as he wipes off the cream with a towel and mutters about how hot she is, she finally focuses on him.

"What was that?"

"Just saying how nice it was to have such lovely hands all over me," he says with the fakest look of innocence she's ever seen.

"Are you ... flirting with me?" she asks incredulously.

"What? No," he denies it with a look of horror and guilt on his face.

"You are," she snorts at him. "And man, are you ever bad at it. I didn't even realize and now I'm totally turned off."

"You were turned on before?" he asks hopefully.

"You are pathetic," she laughs. "No idea how to talk to women. Seriously, do you have any experience with women? At all?"

"Course I do!" he exclaims.

"Bet you don't," she says bluntly. 

She turns and walks away, shaking her head at his protestations.

Roque is in the kitchen, making the evening meal when she goes down to the main floor; Pooch is slicing vegetables.

Living on a tight budget, they've long since learned to cook (although each guy's repertoire is rather basic) and they rotate kitchen responsibilities in order to get a little variety. While their meals tend to be rather meat heavy, in honour of Darcy, they're adding a few vegetables to the mix.

As Aisha keeps reminding them, women do not appreciate living on meat and potatoes exclusively.

"That boy!" Darcy exclaims as she walks into the dining area.

"What's he done now?" Pooch grins.

"He has no 'game'," she explains in frustration. "No idea how to talk to women."

"He say something rude?"

"No," she laughs. "He tried to flirt."

They both chuckle knowingly.

Jensen appears, now wearing a gaudy, ill fitting t-shirt with a crude cartoon on the front. He stands somewhat awkwardly in the door frame, kind of half hunched over, one shoulder appearing higher than the other.

If Darcy hadn't just seen him semi naked, she would have described him as a scrawny dweeb. How does one manage to hide such a sweet bod?

He's scowling. "I do too have 'game'," he mutters fiercely. "I can talk to women just fine."

Darcy snorts. "Come on then," she encourages him, "let's hear your best line."

"I don't have a line," he says a bit sulkily. "I just make it up as I go along."

Roque and Pooch roll their eyes at each other.

"Pathetic," Darcy declares firmly. "Flirting is a skill, you have to practise. You're so bad at it, you might as well take a vow of celibacy."

Jensen glares and mutters.

"You know," she continues relentlessly, "I could probably walk into any bar in this city, pick out a guy and chat him up."

"That's nothing to do with flirting," he answers furiously, "it's 'cause you're a woman and it's always easier for women if they're willing to, you know ..."

She looks amused. "I bet your Cougar could do the same thing," she says.

All three men have to acknowledge that truth. They nod knowingly to each other.

"It's not even that you're that unattractive," she says in a more gentle way, "but your technique sucks and I'll bet you could get lucky or so more often ... you're not even listening to me, are you? You heard 'not unattractive' and everything else was just wa-wa-wa."

He flashes her a gorgeous smile.

Hmm, she thinks. There's potential there.

She imagines Thor standing in the same place. He would own that door frame. He would lean just so, facing straight and square and hook his thumbs into the waistband of better fitting jeans and just look HOT.

"Ever heard of the Darwin awards?" Roque asks drily.

Darcy thinks for a moment. "Idiots killing themselves and doing the human race a favour by removing themselves from the gene pool?"

Roque nods. "We figure Jensen is a menace to women. The fewer chances he has to procreate, the better."

"Hey!" Jensen objects.

"You need better friends," she tells him.


	3. Chapter 3

After dinner, Darcy surprises Jensen by asking if he'll escort her into town.

"Why?" he asks cautiously, being a little wary of her after she said such rude things to him earlier.

"Because I need to buy some girlie stuff. It's not like I'm going to use that nasty medicinal shampoo on my own hair," she sniffs. "And it's dark and it's a third world country which can be kind of dangerous for a lady all on her own."

"Okay," he agrees carefully.

He makes sure that he's packing more than just a flashlight because Darcy's right about dark, dangerous streets, but he's pretty sure he can protect her if worse comes to worse. Actually, he's feeling pretty good that she even asked him.

They start walking and just as he's about to break the excruciating silence, she puts her hand on his arm.

"I'm going to do you a favour," she announces.

And his brain slides into the gutter faster than a badly thrown bowling ball.

Even in the dark, his face must have shown his surprise and then pleasure and excitement.

"No! Not that!" she exclaims, punching his arm. "Jeez, how can you even ..."

"I didn't even ... holy, mother of ... that hurt!" He's clutching his bruised arm.

She glares at him fiercely.

"What?"

"I'm going to take you on as a project," she announces grandly. "I'm stuck here for a while, who knows how long, and I get bored easily, so I'm going to help you out."

"With what? How? Huh?"

With flirting," she says firmly. "With learning how to talk to women. Consider it a crash course in code breaking."

When you put it like that. I mean, what guy wouldn't want some inside information? Darcy is a girl and if she's willing pass on girl secrets .... well. Who is he to remind her of whatever secret oath to the sisterhood she might be breaking?

But he's not going down easily.

"I can talk to women," he insists. "I make them laugh."

" _At_ you," she points out. "That might work in high school, but not with real, grown up women. Unless you want to saunter on down to the local school and practise your lines on the girlies?"

"Err ... no."

"Good. Glad to hear that there are lines you won't cross."

Course there are lines.

"Come on then," she urges him. "Let's hear some of your best pick ups. I can give you some feedback and better suggestions. What do you say if you're in a bar and there's a hot girl you want to talk to?"

"Um ... buy you a drink?"

Darcy quirks an eyebrow. "That's it? No small talk?"

"Err ..."

"Oh for goodness sakes," she sighs. "You've used that angel line, haven't you? The one that starts with - did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

He goggles at her in some amazement. Has he hit on her in some bar somewhere and not recognized her?

"Every girl's heard that one," she tells him tartly. "It's corny."

She's still lecturing him when they arrive at the local, surprisingly well stocked, drugstore. Darcy grabs a basket and starts loading it up with girlie fruit scented shampoo and creams and goodness knows what else. And a box of condoms that she selects after some serious consideration.

Jensen follows her around, barely taking in what she's saying because he's trying to figure out why she's buying a whole box of condoms, besides the obvious, but that can't be, right? Right?

Water balloons maybe? Or someone else asked her to pick some up?

She stops at the men's section and contemplates some nice smelling deodorant and aftershave. 

"I've got some," he tells her absently, "somewhere in the bathroom."

"Axe does not count," she answers firmly. "It's nothing but a cruel marketing trick played on teenage boys that does nothing but asphyxiate people and make women want to flee. Ironically."

"You're not going to try to do some kind of 'make over', are you?" he asks. "Cause I have my own personal style and I'm not willing to change."

She looks bemused. "You might want to fire your stylist," she says lightly, "but if you don't want to change, that's OK. Women aren't visual in the same way that men are."

"Say what?"

"Men are turned on, or distracted, by what they _see_ ," Darcy explains very seriously. "They see curves, they say - oh wow - boobs. Women tend to overlook appearances and focus on more subtle things."

"Huh," Jensen considers that tidbit of information. "That's why guys like Cougar do alright even though they're not ... well to a girl, objectively speaking ..."

"Are you ranking your teammates?"

"Hell no. I just know that compared to other people .... I mean purely in the looks department ..." He's babbling again and he doesn't even know why.

Darcy takes pity. "They're not handsome in a conventional manner," she agrees, "but they're hot in their own way."

"Right," Jensen agrees. "I mean, to women."

"Uh huh."

"Do you find Cougar attractive?" he asks idly.

"Hell yes," she answers with perhaps more enthusiasm than Jensen was expecting. Or entirely comfortable with.

"Why? He hardly ever says anything."

"Doesn't need to," she says dreamily. "It's his eyes. The way he looks at you like he can just take you apart and leave you in a puddle. Umm. Yummy."

Jensen scowls.

They walk back in the dark with Darcy importing more pearls of wisdom, mostly about seeing women as individuals, not replaceable barbie dolls, and making an effort to ask questions about her.

"You know why women make better spies?" she asks.

"No. They do?"

"They do," she confirms. "Cause all they have to do is flash their boobs and bat their eyelashes and the guys just spill. Easiest thing in the world to get a guy to tell you all his secrets. But a male spy? He has to work to get a woman to tell her secrets."

"James Bond does pretty well," Jensen argues.

"Fiction," she points out.

"Huh."

"What do you know about me?"

"Not much."

"Because you haven't asked," she says. "It's very sexy if a guy seems interested in a woman. As a person, not just as a live sex doll. Can you fake that?"

"Suppose so."

An idea occurs to him.

"Maybe I need help in other departments," he suggests guilelessly. "Are you gonna give me feedback there too? Just to make sure I can really seal the deal?"

She eyes him warily.

He puts on his best, most innocent face. "I mean," he says, "I think I kiss pretty well. No complaints. But maybe you want to err ... check me out? Give me some pointers? I totally wouldn't mind."

They've reached the house by now and Darcy laughs. "Ya gotta walk before you can run honeybunch," she says.

That's not a 'no' he thinks as he follows her into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen's ability to hyper focus on specific projects, particularly those involving complex exercises in hacking into impossible sites, is legendary. 

Pooch has warned Darcy of this, saying that he suspects that a line of chorus girls could conga through the room and Jensen wouldn’t look up.

Jensen is currently in the living room, sitting on the couch, hunched over a laptop on the low coffee table. He’s swearing a steady monologue of insults and curses as he tries, somewhat unsuccessfully, to type using his well bandaged hands.

“Can I help?” Darcy asks sweetly.  
   
He doesn’t even look up – probably hasn’t blinked in an hour. “No, I’m working.”

“Seriously, your hands look terrible.”

“Fuck off. I’m trying to tap into this guy’s secret bank account and he’s got white rabbit guards all over the place, kicking me out and setting up little traps ...”

“And you keep hitting the wrong keys.”

“Well, yeah. Cause I can hardly bend my fingers” he holds up one hand to demonstrate how each finger is wrapped in gauze and tape, “and the tips of my fingers are blistered, actually still blistered days after I practically ... oh my God.”

“Here,” she says leaning over him. “I can do that. I’ll type, you tell me where to go.”

“Your fingers are not attached to my brain,” he complains.

She pushes his hands away from the laptop and sits down in front of him, giving him a brief flash of bare legs and forcing him to sit back for a moment.

“What the ...! No ... don’t!”

She taps the touch pad and flicks the cursor up to an image in the corner of the screen. “You want to do this, right?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “then click there, no over here.”

He hates not feeling the click of the keys under his fingers, but he has to admit that she’s good.

-          Try typing ... he says  
   
-          What if we add this ... ? she suggests  
   
-          Password might be ...?  
   
-          If we click here and send an email to this address ...  
   
-          Watch it – you can only try three times and then you’re kicked off  
   
-          Can we change the clock here and fool it?  
   
-          Ah ha!  
 

It doesn’t take them that long to find the key and the path. He pushes her hands away to scroll down the list of financial assets on the screen.

“I knew it,” he mutters, clicking on screen shot and printing it out.

“Here, let me.” Darcy insists.

“I can do it,” he says.

“Your fingers are bleeding,” she points out.

He suddenly becomes very aware that he’s sitting very close to her, leaning over her, actually she’s kind of kneeling on the floor, with her back to him, more or less between his knees. And she smells really good.

He sniffs her hair surreptitiously. She must have just stepped out of the shower because it’s damp and loose. And smells very flowery.

She shoots him a wary look over her shoulder. OK, not so surreptitiously after all.

“Are you wearing my t-shirt?” he asks.

“It’s pink,” she points out.

“So?”

“Half your shirts are pink or purple. Are you sure you’re not sending out the wrong signals? Might be part of your problem.”

“I’m very sure in my sexuality,” he says archly. “But why have you stolen one of my t-shirts?”

“It’s laundry day,” she answers absently, still tapping away at the keyboard, saving and double-saving the info that they’ve found.

“Uh huh?”

“And in case you didn’t notice, I’m not travelling with a huge suitcase of clothes. Pretty much just a spare pair of panties in my purse and I’m good to go. So I need to do laundry.”

“Uh huh.” His mind stutters on mention of ‘panties’.

“And you did laundry yesterday.”

“True.”

“So I took this shirt off the line.”

One of the quirky things about this place is that it comes equipped with a nice washing machine, but no dryer so everyone’s clothes get washed and then hung out to dry.

It occurs to him that she might be wearing very little under his t-shirt and he’s suddenly very distracted from whatever pointless thing is going on the screen in front of him. This is new.

Jensen's hands hover for a moment. How'd he love to just ... touch her back to see if she's really, actually just wearing his T-shirt and maybe not much else.

He lets one hand brush against her shoulder and she twitches.

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking you look a bit tense," he improvises, "thought you might like a massage."

She snorts, "with your hands the way they are?" She finishes what she's doing and shoves the laptop aside. Then she twists to sit on the edge of the table facing him.

He forces himself to look _up_ into her eyes, trying to be as casual as possible.

But he's also cursing that she's chosen a newer T-shirt that is a little big and baggy on her. He swears next time, he's only going to leave out his rattiest most threadbare shirts. He'd be able to tell then.

She looks amused. "Is there something you want?"

Hell yes.

"I could spin you a sob story," he suggests, "maybe about my hands? They hurt like hell and the only thing that could possibly help is ... well some kind of distraction."

She smiles. "Might work with some girls," she agrees.

"But not with _you_ ," he says earnestly. "You're too smart, too clever. The way you hacked into that site was just brilliant. Such a turn on ..." He gives her his best, most winning smile.

She quirks an eyebrow in a way that he interprets to mean 'go on'. 

"Where'd you learn to do that? I mean, it's taken me years to figure out some of those tricks and it's literally my job to know how to navigate these sites. I'm usually the smartest person in the room, but with you around, I'm not sure ..." 

She bites her lip in a way that is incredibly sexy. 

Jensen is encouraged. "I never even asked if you have a boyfriend cause I can't figure out how you're still single. I mean, you're smart and sexy and you have such a hot body." 

"Currently single," she confirms with a smile. 

He scoots a little closer. 

"I'm really flattered that you're helping me out and telling me all these girl secrets, but I'm not sure I'm even interested in other girls, compared to you ..." 

"Laying it on a little thick," she warns him, but she smiles to soften the blow. 

"I'm not, it's not a _line_ ," he says. 

And she leans forward to kiss him. 

It's kind of awkward because she's sitting on a coffee table and he's on the couch and they can't actually get any closer unless one of them is willing to risk falling off, but it's still good. 

Darcy puts her hand to the nape of his neck and pulls him closer. 

Jensen puts his hand on her breast and slides his thumb across. Her nipple hardens under his thumb and there's definitely nothing between her skin and his hand except his own T-shirt. She's commando, or whatever you call it when a woman goes around without a bra. Hubba hubba. 

And Jensen is very, very turned on. 

"Hot damn," he murmurs, breaking the kiss momentarily. "You are so hot. I love your curves, and your amazing ..." Words fail him, but he makes an expansive _round_ gesture with his hands. 

To his surprise, she pulls away. "What did you say?" 

"Just that you have such a great body, nice and round and lots for me to ... what?" 

"Are you calling me 'fat'?" 

"No! Absolutely not!" And Jensen is horrified because he's known since he was eight years old and got a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, that you should never, ever call a woman 'fat'. Even his mother hadn't taken his side that time. 

So he tries to explain. "Some women are just skin and bones, and ok some men like that sort of thing, I mean look at Aisha who everyone reckons is just beautiful, but me, I like a girl with some meat on her bones, some curves and roundness and ..." 

And Darcy is standing now, looking furious. 

He has no idea why. 

And suddenly Cougar is there, sliding into their space in that quiet, unobtrusive ninja way he has. He takes Darcy by the arm and leads her away. He appears to be murmuring something into her ear, but of course, Jensen can't figure out what he's saying. 

He's just left feeling stunned at how fast things fell apart. 

Pooch appears in the doorway looking curious and amused. He mimes swinging a baseball bat and missing. 

"Yeah, yeah, struck out," Jensen grumbles. "But what the hell?" 

He follows Pooch into the kitchen. 

"So what'd you do?" Pooch asks. 

"Nothing," Jensen says. "Well some stuff, but nothing to make her mad. She seemed to _like_ it." 

"Until?" 

"I told her she was hot," Jensen complains. 

"Really?" 

So Jensen tries to explain exactly what he'd said and Pooch laughs. 

"Man, you are a menace. How'd we ever let you out without supervision?" 

"But I said that I _liked_ her body!" Jensen says in an aggrieved tone. "I mean most guys do, don't they? Like a bit of curves and all. I know you do, right? There's Jolene and all ..." 

"Whoa, watch what you're saying there," Pooch warns him. 

"Seriously, that's a sweet ass Darcy has." 

Pooch tries his best to explain, in small, precise words, about societal expectations and how even a girl as comfortable in her skin as Darcy is going to object to being compared to a conventionally beautiful woman like Aisha. 

He's not sure that Jensen completely understands (but then he's not sure he's totally got it either, but at least he knows what not to say to a woman) when Darcy appears in the doorway. 

Jensen stares. 

She's still wearing his T-shirt, but she's also now sporting Cougar's hat. 

Cougar never takes that hat off. No-one touches the hat. He's even been known to sleep in it. Jensen is not 100% certain he would recognize Cougar on the street if he walked by without the hat. Well yeah, he would, but even so. 

Darcy glides into the kitchen wearing the pink T-shirt that only just covers her ass and Cougar's hat. And she opens the refrigerator door and gets herself a beer. 

Jensen thinks that's a very bad sign, but he's not sure of what. 

Pooch gives him a familiar and meaningful glare. 

"Sorry," he says, having been well trained by family and friends. 

She takes a long drink from her bottle. 

He opens his mouth to say something else and she puts up her hand to forestall him. 

"I accept your apology," she says. 

He nods. 

"But I'm going to give you advice that is more important than anything I've said before or will say later." 

"OK?" 

"When you screw up, _stop talking_ ," she says. "Just freeze until you can figure out what's going on because when you keep talking, you just dig yourself a bigger hole." 

"Uh huh," he agrees. 

She nods politely to Pooch and saunters out. 

Pooch laughs. "Best get a move on, Romeo," he says. "Her posse, the rest of her team is coming down in a day or two, then we're going to help them blow up a drug den, then they're gone, taking her back stateside." 

"I'm working on it," Jensen mutters. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Jensen goes downstais to ask Pooch for the keys to the bike.

Because despite promising not to make him over, Darcy has left him a set of new clothes and a note inviting him on a treasure hunt. Or video game quest. With tasks to carry out. To find her.

Jensen is game – sounds like fun.

The whole gang is lounging around, even Aisha, just back from wherever she was recently. She’s not sitting on the couch like a normal person, but perched on the back with her feet on the seat.

Pooch eyes Jensen critically. “Are you ready to be released? Loosed upon the unsuspecting women of the world?”

Jensen snatches for the keys. “Just give them here.”

He feels absurdly like a teenager asking daddy for the keys to the car.

Clay looks at him over the wire rimmed glasses he’s wearing low on his nose. He looks more like a professor than the hard nosed tough guy he really is. “Going out with Darcy?” he asks.

“Going _after_ her,” Jensen explains, “She left me a note.”

Everyone looks curious at that. Maybe a little amused.

Clay frowns. “She’s on her own? Is that safe? Should we be worried?”

Roque snorts,” Not on her behalf. Knowing who she works for, you really think she can’t handle any trouble that comes up?”

Cougar tips his hat. “She’s armed,” he says laconically, “Guns _and_ taser.”

Pooch grins. “More worried about the poor dude who hits on her. We should be listening for explosions just in case.”

Clay smiles. “And you? Got protection?” he asks Jensen.

“Yup,” he says and pats the back pocket of his too tight jeans. Then he realizes what Clay actually meant and recovers, “Got two guns and a couple of knives. Should be fine.”

Clay looks amused at the slip.

Aisha peels off the couch and approaches Jensen.

He fights the urge to step back.

As he said to Pooch the other day, Jensen’s not attracted to Aisha, he’s terrified of her. He’s seen her fight, shoot and blast bazookas. Not to mention she’s sleeping with Clay who is both his boss and kind of a father figure. And when she fights with Clay, Jensen gets all sort of flashbacks to his own parents fighting. All of which adds up to an uncomfortable package that he would prefer not to get too close.

But she stands in front of him, unfastening the top buttons on his nice white shirt and smoothing down the collar.

“You smell nice,” she says softly in that deceptively gentle voice that always spells trouble.

“Thanks.” He tenses, but doesn’t move.

She untucks his shirt a little. “You have a bad habit of slouching into rooms,” she reminds him, “trying to pretend that you’re smaller than you are. Don’t do that tonight, OK?”

“Um ok.”

“Just walk tall, like you belong,” she advises him. “Good luck.”

OK.

It occurs to Jensen as he arrives at the first place indicated on the note that he and Darcy have overlooked one critical fact.

He doesn’t speak Spanish.

Or at least not much.

 

Here he is in a Spanish-speaking country and his best Spanish line is – _drop your weapons or I’ll shoot_.

Might work as a pick up line, but probably not. He’s said it often enough that he’s weirdly fluent. He practises it now under his breath.

Usually when he has to communicate with locals he takes Cougar along. Ironically, Cougar rarely speaks (even in Spanish) so most communication is conducted with nods and twitches and secret hard-to-interpret looks. So Jensen hasn’t actually learned to say much from tagging along.

Still, he buys a drink in the dingy, hole-in-the-wall bar Darcy’s sent him to, chats up a young woman who does speak a little English, buys her a drink, remembers how to ask some basic questions and lets her chatter merrily away mostly in Spanish. He only understands one word in ten, but she seems happy enough.

And then he wanders off to the bathroom and finds a note from Darcy sending him to another place.

Ok then.

In place two, he finds a group of people he knows from various shady wheeling and dealing with Cougar. They invite him to sit and have a drink and so he does. No Spanish required. They know perfectly well who he is and just how bad his language skills are.

There are a couple of young, attractive women hangers on around the table. Normally, Jensen would ignore them or he would blush and stammer if one flirted with him. But he’s not here to flirt; he’s waiting for the next message from Darcy.

Still, he tells one girl in his halting Spanish that he likes her earrings and pretty soon, she’s telling him where to get his hands on black market jewellery. With an attention span like a puppy, Jensen is quickly chatting with her about black market deals in general, and telling her a story about the time that he and Cougar made a deal with one group only to be double crossed.

And one of the guys (probably her boyfriend) is watching them with a less-than-amused expression on his face. Which is funny, because he’s not even flirting with her.

Jensen decides, message or no message, he should make his escape.

He skips out of the club wondering what’s next and finds a note on the bike directing him to his next location. How’d she do that? He reads it as he’s zooming down the road because those guys following? Not nice people at all.

The next place is pretty much empty so he sits at the bar and talks to the lady bartender. She’s cute. She has a sister in Texas so her English isn’t half bad.

She laughs at his half-assed Spanish and makes him a girly drink that delights him. So many other bartenders judge him for what he likes. Not her.

He asks her about her family and has a really long conversation about whether she should join her sister in Texas or stay where she is.

Eventually, she pulls out a note from Darcy and hands it over. “She said I’d recognize you,” the bartender says with a wink. “Cute guy, nice body, sweet talker? I think that’s you.”

He walks out with a swagger. Still got it!

 

By the time he gets to the next place, a dance club set back in the jungle, hardly even in town, he’s starting to worry about this game she’s playing. If this country has rules and laws regarding opening and closing times for bars, no-one pays them the slightest bit of attention. It’s late now. The ordinary people who go out for a drink or to flirt and chat someone up, have paired off or not, and gone home to bed. This late at night, the only people still out at these disreputable bars are the serious drinkers, by now too drunk to stand and the serious criminals, also drunk, but also armed and aggressive.

So he’s cautious, walking into the dance club. It’s dark and loud with blaring, pumped up music blasting from speakers. The people on the dance floor are too drunk to bob and jump around to the music; they’re blearily hanging on to each other and shuffling around.

Jensen walks the perimeter, hoping that Darcy is finally here.

And she is.

Wearing a bright green dress that hugs her curves and flatters her.

And she’s deep in conversation with an attractive older man at the bar.

He takes a seat at the bar and snacks on the chips left out at strategic locations. He’s had quite a bit to drink already tonight.

And watches as Darcy flirts with the dude, putting her hand on his arms and tilting her head to one side. The guy leans down to whisper in her ear ...

Jensen looks away.

The music is annoying; it gets under his skin.

“Hey,” he flags down the bartender, “mind turning down the music, or switching it or something? It’s not like anyone is actually listening. They’re dancing to the music in their head.”

“What you want?” the guy shrugs and scowls. “Slow? Romantic? You’re all alone.”

“Not for long,” Jensen retorts. “Come on. Ya gotta have better stuff than this.”

The bartender snorts and walks away.

Much to his surprise, the music does change, from high tempo, rock to slow, sweet, local ballads.

“Hey honey,” a woman whispers in his ear. He jumps.

She laughs and he turns around to find Darcy, a little wobbly on her high shoes, but looking absolutely amazing. Her dark, curly hair is pinned up in a messy bun, with a few strands escaping. Her lipstick is bright red and her eyes are dark and smoky. 

“Hey, wow,” he manages to breath. “I found you.”

“Guess my directions weren’t too hard to follow?”

He just grins, foolishly, drinking her in with his eyes.

She looks amused.

“Want to dance?” he asks. “I just got them to change the song.”

“Good call,” she smiles.

He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. Once again, he’s kind of reminded of high school, but better. He doesn’t really know how to dance, but he can hold her in his arms and just sway in time to the music like everyone else is doing.

“Where’d you get the dress?” he asks. “Though you packed spare panties and not much else?”

She laughs. “Cougar took me shopping. He knows all the best places.”

“You look great. How many guys have you had to tase away?”

“Just one. Actually, just had to threaten him with it. Told him my boyfriend was on his way and that he’s really scary.”

His heart thuds.

“Talked to many girls?” she asks.

“A few,” he admits. “I need to work on my Spanish, though.”

She hums a few bars of a popular song.

“I think I’m ready to call it a night,” he says softly. “Come on.”

They step outside into the dark and she grabs him and kisses him. He presses her up against the wall and responds with enthusiasm. She tastes of fruit and beer and he knows that he’s kissing off her lipstick, but he doesn’t care. He kisses her ear and then nips at her bare shoulder.

Her hands are sliding under his shirt, clever fingers drumming a pattern on his chest.

He tries to calculate how quickly they can get back to the safe house. The route they’ve taken was roundabout, not linear, so he thinks they’re not actually too far away, maybe ten minutes. If he drives fast.

And then there’s the crunch of a footstep, and the soft whisper of gun being drawn from a holster.

And Jensen might be addlepated with lust, but he’s still a highly trained special ops agent from the Losers (he is!), and so he’s pushing Darcy down for safety and drawing his gun instantly.

 

“ _Suelte la arma,_ ” someone says from the darkness.

 


	6. hot and heavy

They crouch down in the bushes and try to breath quietly as they listen intently. It occurs to Jensen that he's not even sure if the words were directed at him. For all he knows, there are two opposing gangs facing off in the parking lot and he just happened to hear the opening salvo.

Darcy's pulling off her shoes which Jensen thinks is a pretty stupid thing to do. He puts his hand out to stop her and she glares at him and mouths something he can't make out.

Then she pulls slippers or flat running shoes or something out of her bag and he gets it. OK - she's not crazy, she's _well prepared_.

There are whispers to the right of them. And footsteps. Cautious.

Jensen tips his head to one side and he and Darcy creep gingerly under some bushes. The guy with the gun doesn't seem to notice.

Darcy is unhappily aware that as cute as Jensen looks in the lovely white shirt she picked out for him, the shirt makes him a blurry target even in the dark.

 _"Deténgase! Adónde vas?"_ someone shouts.

Jensen aims and pops off a couple of shots in the direction of the voice and then he grabs Darcy's hand and runs towards the guy, who is now yelling in surprise and consternation.

Another voice growls from behind them.

"Close your eyes!" Darcy yells.

"What?"

"Seriously? Don't you ever follow orders?" Darcy tosses something in an underhand throw in the direction of the last voice.

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut as she pulls him around the corner of the building. She grabs his shirt and pulls his face down to hers, lips mashing in a hot, frantic kiss.

A flash of light explodes in the sky, so bright he can see stars even through the lids of his closed eyes.

Someone screams.

"Flash bomb," Darcy explains breathlessly. "He must have been using night vision goggles. Burnt out his retinals."

"Ouch," Jensen winces, but he breaks away from her grasp to poke his head around the corner. The light is fading quickly but he can see four men, one on the ground writhing in agony, clutching his head. Two others bent over at the waist with their hands over their eyes. Jensen shoots at the fourth man, who has his back to them, but is looking around carefully, a submachine gun held in both hands.

Jensen is a better marksman than his team gives him credit. Well, who looks good compared to Cougar? He aims for the guy's arm and wings his elbow. The guy drops the gun and falls to his knees with a cry of pain. He won't be shooting that big gun anytime soon.

"Let's go," he grabs Darcy and they run for the bike.

 

Several miles away, Cougar and Pooch are sprawled on the couches, watching a game on TV. Pooch scowls. 

"Explosion?" he asks.

Cougar grunts in the affirmative.

"Damn those kids," Pooch mutters.

 

Jensen revs up the bike and scoots away, careful not to skid on the loose gravel. Might make for a dramatic exit, but he'd rather not deal with a fall.

They can hear men shouting at each other in Spanish and at least two other motorcycles revving up.

Darcy wraps her arms around his waist and leans in as Jensen guns the little Honda.

They zoom through a small town, really more a collection of huts. Jensen kills the motor and jumps off (a bit tricky with Darcy sitting behind him). He pushes the little bike behind a house and they wait. And they listen.

A whole gang, well more than two or three motorcycles, comes flying through the town, kicking up gravel and dust and making the very air vibrate with their roar.

Jensen replaces the clip on his favourite gun.

Darcy has a tiny, silver toy gun in her hand.

"Hey, what is that?" he whispers.

"Stark gun," she answers. "Plastic so I can get it through airport security and it has a laser to help with aim."

"Cool," he breathes, his eyes lighting up. "Can I ....?"

She smacks his shoulder. "Pay attention."

"Oh yeah."

He's distracted by her bare leg. The skirt on her dress is short to begin with, but she's hiked it up to sit on the bike and now he's standing very close, really almost leaning over her and her leg, bared to mid thigh is just right there.

He thinks of dropping his hand just a little bit and touching that bare skin ...

Darcy grabs his hand. Damn. Can she read minds?

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?" she whispers, turning his hand over to look at the barely healed burns.

"Oh yeah," he admits.

The delicate new skin has cracked and is bleeding a little bit. He grabs at the gloves hanging from the handlebars and puts them on.

They wait for a few more minutes and then just as they're about to leave, a single motorcycle comes leisurely through the town.

"Trailer," Jensen whispers into Darcy's ear. She nods.

Jensen climbs back on the bike and starts it. Then he turns it around and drives back in the direction that they came from. He turns off before they get to the bar and maneuvers his bike down a series of trails, each a little rougher than the last.

He's acutely aware of Darcy pressed up against him, her bare knees bumping up against his. She tugs at his shirt, sliding bare hands across the skin on his belly. Her fingers slide under his belt buckle. Just stroking, touching.

Part of him wants to tell her to stop distracting him as he's navigating dark, potholed trails; part of him desperately wants her to keep going.

Her thumb traces the whorl of fine, delicate hair around his belly button and down ...

He shifts uncomfortably. Damn jeans are so tight.

The bike jumps over a bump and he fights for control.

Darcy slides her other hand up, running fingernails over his chest and then rubbing her thumb over his nipple. Even through two layers, his body reacts.

"Holy batman," he mutters, wondering if he should just pull over.

"What did you say?" Darcy murmurs, her teeth bumping up against his shoulder. He's too tall for her to reach his ear which is what she'd like to nip.

He drives into the yard of their safe house and skids to a crazy stop, twisting around even before they're properly stopped.

He kisses her frantically, his hand twisted into her hair.

She laughs at him and then climbs off the bike, smoothing down her dress.

He stares at her hungrily, his chest heaving, eyes glittering.

"Come on," she says, "park your steed and come with me."

"Where are we going?"

She points.

"Err ... no," he says warily. "That's Clay's ... um place."

"Uh huh," she grins. "And for tonight, it's ours."

"What's wrong with just going back to the main house?"

"Your bed creaks," she snorts.

"How'd you know that?"

I can hear you," she answers sweetly. "Every night, you toss and turn. Do you really want everyone in the whole house to hear us ...?"

"No," he answers, although truthfully, he doesn't really care. The Losers live in close quarters. It's not like they have _secrets_ from each other.

"Don't worry," Darcy says cheerfully, tugging him up the stairs to the room above the garage that Clay has appropriated. "Aisha and I did laundry. We've got clean sheets and Aisha's gonna keep Clay out of our hair."

He doesn't want to explain that he's got serious daddy issues and the idea of sleeping (and well, doing other activities) in Clay's bed makes him anxious.

But Darcy is leading him inside and he's not willing to pass up what seems like a sure chance to get lucky considering how rare such opportunities arise.

Darcy kisses him again in the doorway to the bedroom, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him close. He's not sure what to do with his hands, putting them awkwardly on her waist, his fingers curling into the silky fabric of her dress.

Good sex is not actually a given in Jensen's experience. With his capacity for distraction, he's had incidents where he's been overwhelmed with the sensations, pulled in multiple directions, feeling like he'll explode and his molecules will scatter across the universe. 

At times like that, he'll resort to frantic conversation, babbling inappropriately about quarks or raids or star trek even during sex.

Not that any relationship has ever lasted long with him, but those are the times when the relationship doesn't last til morning, often ending with him slinking out the door in the dark, shaking his head and wondering just what the _fuck_ is wrong with him.

But the flip side of his personality is that he's also capable of amazing focus given the right direction.

And because Darcy is more like him than not, she seems to know just how to get him to concentrate.

She pulls away from him now and turns around. "Will you unzip me please?" she murmurs.

He fumbles at the clasp. "Who's the genius who designs a dress so hard to get out of?" he grumbles.

"I think they figure that if I look this hot in their dress, I'd be a real loser not to go home with someone," she laughs.

He unzips the dress and peels it off, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulder. The dress pools at her feet. Then he laughs at the holster on her upper thigh like a garter belt. "Gawd Darcy, every time I think you can't get any hotter, you up the ante."

"I never go anywhere without my trusty buddy the taser," she says.

He pulls his hands away in surrender. "I'll let you remove it lest I zap us both by accident."

"It's sick that you're so turned on by weaponry."

In reply, he peels off his shirt revealing a two-gun holster and strap for a knife tucked into the small of his back.

"Hot," she agrees approvingly.

"I'm not wandering around this forest unarmed," he explains.

They each fiddle with their leather straps. Jensen tucks his holster, weapons still attached, under the bed; Darcy tucks her taser under a pillow.

"Take care you don't accidentally dislodge another weapon," he warns her. "This place is better armed than some army depots."

She looks around with interest.

"And don't try to open any windows," Jensen says, "I think they're booby trapped."

"That level of paranoia is a little disturbing," she says.

"It's not paranoia when it's true," he points out.

He pulls off the t-shirt he was wearing under the shirt and she hums in approval.

"Come here."

She's wearing a lacy black bra and a very skimpy pair of black briefs that he doubts she brought with her. 

A stray thought wanders across his brain as he wonders if she bought them when she went shopping with Cougar for the dress.

She grabs his arm and tugs and they tumble into bed.

"You're such a nerd," she teases him, "how'd you get to be so ripped?" Her hands are all over him, squeezing, stroking ..."

"I was a terror in high school," he explains in between kisses, "the teachers were tearing their hair out, always nagging my mom to get me to a doctor for more drugs, different drugs ... until this new teacher came along. He was a history teacher slash gym teacher and he used to get a bunch of us together to go running before school. And when the weather got bad, we'd go work out in a gym for a couple of hours before school."

Darcy watches him carefully as he tells the story, his hands gently touching her, sliding over her shoulders, touching her belly ... dropping a kiss on her hip.

"It helped?" she asks.

He nods, makes a flipping motion with his hand. "Went from not being able to pass grade nine math to taking extra credit classes in calculus. Wouldn't have graduated high school never mind college without Mr Jones."

"So you work out?"

"Get antsy if I don't."

"The side effects are lovely," she says, squeezing his biceps.

He grins, white teeth gleaming in the dimness. "May I?" He slides his hand around her back to the clasp on her bra.

She arches her back. "Go for it." 

He drops the bra over the side of the bed and kisses her breast. His senses are in overdrive. He can smell that sweet, spicy scent of her overlaid with perfume, taste her slightly salty skin, hear her hum of enjoyment as his tongue licks and his teeth nibble soft skin. 

They take their time, kissing and tasting and laughing as their fingers touch sensitive spots. For all that he hasn't had sex in a while, Jensen is willing to take it slow and draw out the pleasure. They have time tonight. 

Who knows what will happen tomorrow?

They end up sated and spent, sweaty and breathing heavily in a tangle of sheets.

"Holy hotness," Darcy gasps. "That was worth waiting for."

"Thanks," he grins. "Wait, what?"

She grins. "Soon as I saw you half naked in that bathroom, I made up my mind I was going to jump your bones. Like my seduction technique?"

He laughs.


	7. Chapter 7

Jensen wanders into the kitchen wearing the too-tight jeans and his tank top. He tosses the holster and his white shirt onto the couch.

Pooch and Cougar are already there drinking coffee and munching on toast.

They watch him idly as he opens the fridge and takes out the jug of orange juice

"How's Darcy?" Pooch asks casually.

"Good," Jensen answers.

"Saw her this morning," Cougar reports.

Jensen watches them both warily and then lifts the jug to his lips.

"She walking _bowlegged_ ," Cougar says.

Jensen splutters and spills orange juice all over his shirt. "Jeez!" he swears.

Pooch laughs, pounds the table and offers Cougar a fist bump. Timing is everything.

Jensen scowls.

Clay walks in just at that moment, takes note of their merriment and pours himself a coffee. "Good night?" he asks casually.

"Uh huh." Jensen is getting jittery.

"You changed the sheets?"

He goggles at Clay. "What? No ... I ah ...no." What guy cares about clean sheets?

Clay gives him a long hard look and Jensen squirms. "Sorry," he stammers out. "I'll uh ... I guess ..."

"Don't apologize to me," Clay says, "it's Aisha you'll have to answer to."

Jensen looks around wildly wondering if this is a joke.

Pooch nods seriously. "Women are weird that way," he says gravely.

Clay rescues him. "How are the hands?"

"Perfect," Jensen's assures him, holding them up for inspection. "No problem last night."

At Pooch's raised eyebrow, Jensen clarifies quickly, "I mean with the gun, with the shooting ... pulling the trigger, you know?"

Clay gives him one of those 'daddy' looks. "There was shooting?"

"We ran into a little trouble at one place," Jensen admits.

"Kill anyone?"

"No sir. Some precision shooting knocked a few guys out of commission."

Cougar raises an eyebrow.

"Thirty-one feet," Jensen brags. "Took out his elbow right where I wanted. No wasted shots."

Cougar looks mildly pleased. Always nice to know that the student has absorbed some wisdom.

"I thought I heard an explosion?" Pooch remembers.

"Oh yeah," Jensen admits. "Might be a pissed off blind guy running around. Darcy let off a flash bomb and he was using night vision goggles."

Pooch winces. Clearly he understands the implication.

Clay checks his watch. "Tell Darcy that we had communication from her guys. They'll be here this morning, in about an hour give or take."

Jensen doesn't want to admit that he doesn't actually know where she is at this very moment. He'd woken this morning, feeling like he'd just enjoyed the best sleep in ten years, only to find her side of the bed empty.

He contemplates the food in the fridge in his search for breakfast.

There's day-old pizza, which would normally be his first choice, but it has pineapple on it, which he doesn't like. Who thinks putting fruit on pizza is a good idea?

There's a clatter on the stairs and Darcy enters. Jensen can't help but stare and maybe drool a little. She's wearing cut off jean shorts that barely cover her ass and the same tight v-neck T-shirt she was wearing when she arrived.

He wonders if they're going to play it cool, nod to each other, smile politely? He's hoping he'll get her off to himself sometime before her friends arrive so he can snatch a quick kiss.

She nods to Cougar, who tips his hat and she smiles at Pooch, who greets her pleasantly. Then she comes around the counter to Jensen and trails her finger down his now damp shirt.

"Hey hot stuff," she greets him. "Finally hauled your ass out of bed?"

"Hey," he answers, surprisingly breathless all of a sudden.

She grabs his shirt and pulls him down for a kiss - a real, tongue on tongue, teeth bumping, lips mashing KISS. And he braces himself on the counter and leans into her, giving as good as he gets, not even caring that they've got an audience. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pooch putting his face in his hands, muttering, 'too much, too much'.

They come up for air and she grins at him.

"Hear we're getting company?"

"Yeah," he answers. "Your buddies in less than hour."

"Doesn't give us much time," she says, pulling him away.

"For what?" he says stupidly. Oh yeah ...

"Wait," she says suddenly, reversing direction. His heart sinks. "Sustenance," she says, flinging open the fridge. "We'll need to eat something." She flashes him a cheeky grin. "To keep your strength up."

"Right," he grins.

She hauls out the pizza box.

"I don't like pineapple," he says.

She shrugs. "Why do people put fruit on pizza? Oh well, we'll pick it off."

Jensen gives kind of a sheepish shrug and a grin to Cougar, who looks amused and Pooch, who looks .... exasperated (but fond) and then he follows Darcy out the door.

 

Later, they sprawl in Clay's bed with the sheets damp and tangled around them and eat cold cheese pizza with the fruit bits picked off.

Jensen is wondering if he'll be able to squeeze in a shower before meeting the famous agents from New York. He's sweaty and sticky and well aware that he smells of sex.

Not that he minds being sweaty from sex - amazing, mind blowing, heart attack inducing sex that certainly had his heart rate up - probably more than any run.

But still. One wants to make a good first impression, right?

He eyes Darcy who is sitting crossed legged, with a bare bum, wearing his orange juice splattered tank top - what is with women wearing the clothes of their men? and licking the last of the tomato sauce off her fingers.

Her skin is slicked with sweat and she's still breathing heavily which gives him a little thrill, cause he did that.

"Shower?" he suggests.

"Good idea. Together?"

"Mmm."

She squints at him. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like Captain America, naked?"

He parses that sentence carefully. "No. When have you ever seen Captain America _naked_?"

"All the time," she answers cheerfully. "Well the whole enchilada, only once when I walked into the men's change room by accident and he was there in his full glory if you know what I mean, but _shirtless_ , lots of times. It's practically like movie night. Word goes out that he's in the gym, or better yet, swimming laps in the pool and a whole army of women, even some men, grab their deck chairs and popcorn - well slight exaggeration there - and just watch him shirtless and sweaty or shirtless and wet ..."

Jensen just stares at her. 

"Seriously, you look like him. Think your mom, no I guess it would be your grandma - he's like seventy years older than he looks - might have had, you know, a little fling?"

"I wouldn't know," he says with a little frown.

 

They take their shower. They take much, much longer than usual and use up all the hot water, but actually the cold water is probably a good thing. They're generating enough heat as is.

Jensen decides not to put on the juice splattered tank top. He'll walk over to the main house and change into more comfortable jeans and one of his own t-shirts.

Hence they've just left Clay's love shack, when a convoy of two black jeeps pull up. Jensen is reaching for the gun that he _doesn't_ have with him, when Darcy puts a hand on his arm.

"Stand down," she says with a smile.

Three or four guys step out of each vehicle, mostly dressed in black tactical gear.

Darcy goes to greet the guy closest to her and he wraps her up in a bear hug. Jensen does not like how his hands travel down her back to cup that beautiful ass in his hands, but Darcy doesn't seem to mind. She laughs and punches him on his bare shoulder.

Jensen recognizes him then - the archer. Always with the sleeveless leather vests like he can't find shirts to cover his amazing, bulging, muscled arms.

Cougar has talked of him. They worked together way back.

Jensen takes an immediate dislike to him.

The second guy hugs Darcy too, or she hugs him, but in a much more dignified way. Then she's waving them over to shake hands with Jensen who is feeling more than a little exposed, standing there half dressed.

The driver shakes his hand and introduces himself as Steve. Jensen wonders how Darcy could possibly see any resemblance. The guy is like seven feet tall, chiseled, clean cut, powerful, exuding an air of command that makes Jensen want to shrink like a whipped puppy.

"We brought lunch," Steve says. "Hope you don't think that's presumptuous, but I didn't like just dropping in on you like this."

Jensen's stomach growls loudly.

"Sounds good," he says coolly.

The archer shakes his hand. "I'm Clint."

"Jensen."

The rest of the team appear to be heading in without introductions.

"He's the comms guy," Darcy explains to the archer with the wandering hands. "Very clever with computers."

"Great," Steve says, heading in to meet Clay who has emerged in the doorway. "We left our tech guy at home."

Jensen does not miss the look Clint gives Darcy - sort of a 'what are you up to?' look.

She winks and gives him an innocent bat of her eyelashes that fools no-one.

Clint rolls his eyes and follows them in for introductions and briefing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter - sorry. I haven't completely mapped out how I'm going to end this story, so it might be a while before I post the very last chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s afterwards ... after the meals, the planning, the briefing on the fancy Stark tech ... that it really dawns on Jensen that this is it. Darcy is going home after tonight and he is not.

There’s no time for a private conversation.

The team from New York is quiet and professional and somehow still manages to take over the house. Jensen is both surprised and yet not surprised that two of the tactical agents are women and yet neither are the infamous Black Widow. Apparently SHIELD is pretty egalitarian.

Cougar manages to infiltrate the group without saying a word and is soon sitting between the two female agents looking cool and smug.

The mission itself is pretty straightforward.

Jensen tracks all movement from an array of laptops in an SUV. He’s never seen such tech. So easy to use, such clear images, he’s green with jealousy and muttering about stealing the tech for his own use.

The agents move in the early hours of the morning, the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn when most people are asleep and even the guards aren’t at their best.

They snatch the guy they want, blow up the hideout and get out with minimal causalities.

It’s such a smooth operation that Jensen is taken aback, waiting for the mistake, the twist, the oops moment that characterizes so many operations. It never comes.

So here they are at the small private airstrip, loading the gear, taking stock, saying goodbye.

And Jensen needs to find Darcy.

Needs to have a moment alone with her.

He stalks (slinks, slouches) into the shed that is operating as a make shift departure lounge. There’s no-where to hide. She’s not there.

He heads out into the darkness.

“Hey!” someone calls and he turns warily.

It’s not Darcy. It’s one of the two women agents, still dressed in her black leather armour-like gear.

She smiles at him, a slow, lazy, faintly flirtatious smile that has him immediately on the defensive. Is there a joke coming?

He pauses, hesitates.

“Jensen, right?” she asks.

“Uh huh.”

“I’ve been told to give you something,” she says lightly, “Come here.”

“What?”

She tips her head and he follows her around the back of the building to one of the SUVs. She opens the trunk and takes out a briefcase.

“You were overheard,” she smiles, “pondering how to steal Stark tech ...”

“Oh whoa, whoa,” Jensen protests, backing up so fast, he almost trips. He’s imagining a kidnapping / incarceration scenario that involves being locked into small spaces like the trunk of the SUV and his heart is starting to pound ...

She laughs, putting her hands up in surrender. “You’re getting the wrong idea.”

“I was joking,” he insists frantically.

“Stop!” she says firmly.

And he freezes obediently.

She looks amused. Common enough expression for an attractive woman facing off against Jensen’s awkward, kicked-puppy-dog body language.

He shuffles his feet.

“You don’t need to steal anything,” she explains. “Steve told me to give you this. It’s kind of thanks for your good work.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did what we asked ... handled the tech beautifully.” She slowly reaches into the trunk, watching him as if she’s afraid he’s about to run, and pulls out a briefcase.

He takes it from her. It’s heavy, armoured, but not locked. “Um ... thanks? I think.”

“Seriously,” she smiles. “Steve said it was OK.” She is beautiful, all luminous eyes and chiseled cheekbones. The look she’s giving him is decidedly sexy, but he’s not sure if he’s imagining it or if she just looks like that all the time. Can you turn sexiness on and off?

He strokes the briefcase, wondering if it would be appropriate to open it here and now and check what’s inside. She watches him in amusement.

“So um ...” he asks uncertainly. “Do you know Darcy? Do you know where she is?”

“Everyone knows Darcy,” she answers. “She was looking for you earlier.”

Is it his imagination or has her voice just dropped an octave into a sexy purr?

“Oh yeah?” he says.

The woman shrugs and steps forward. “I don’t know where she is.”

He almost steps back.

Something about this woman reminds him of Aisha. Like she knows something he doesn’t and is mightily amused.

A door crashes behind him and he jumps.

Darcy clambers out, looking flustered and somewhat disheveled. “Oh there you are!” she explains happily.

The other woman looks mildly annoyed.

Jensen is just relieved. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says.

Darcy grins. For a moment, they’re the only two people in the world and then Darcy blinks and looks past Jensen to the woman still standing by the SUV. Her expression darkens. “Monahan,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“Lewis,” the woman answers cheekily. “I was just about to ... thank your friend for all his hard work.” Her statement drips with innuendo.

Darcy scowls fiercely; Jensen feels confused (yet again). It’s like listening to an argument in another language. Something is going on but darned if he knows what.

The woman – Monahan apparently – touches Jensen on the shoulder, trails her hand down his arm, squeezes his bicep lightly ...

He freezes, heart thudding, suddenly very uncomfortable.

She smiles and walks away jauntily.

“I wasn’t ...” he turns to Darcy, anxiously.

“I’m sure you weren’t,” she answers blithely. “But I know her. Moment she set eyes on you, she was going to be all over you.”

“I ... ah ... what?”

Darcy backs him up to the wall and grabs his shirt. “You’re so damn sexy.”

“I am?” he says in wonderment, “No-one’s ever ...” He never finishes his sentence as Darcy kisses him.  

For a brief moment, the world narrows to just the two of them, in the dark, Jensen pressed up against the grimy wall of the airport, Darcy’s hands sliding under his shirt ...

Jensen breaks it off and looks around. “Where does this door lead to?” he asks Darcy.

“Stairs,” she answers grimly. “Concrete. They go up to the air traffic controller room. I’ve cased the joint. There’s no-where.”

“Car?” he suggests.

“Hmmm.” Darcy walks over to the SUV and yanks the back door open. They clamber in.

He’s reaching for her, waiting to savour these last few moments, but she laughs and pushes him (just a little) away. “What did she give you?”

“Um ... this briefcase. Not sure if I should really take it.”

“You should,” she urges him. “Open it and see if there’s a note.”

So he does, and sure enough there’s a folded up note on cream stationary that looks like it should be for a wedding invitation. It takes a few minutes for him to decipher the elegant sloping handwriting ...

 

“ _No need to cross to the dark side and start thieving ... here are some Stark toys for you as thanks for your good work. Steve_.”

“Cute,” Darcy grins. “Told him you deserved something.”

“I can’t believe you know the Avengers.”

“And he’s thrown in a pop culture reference,” she crows delightedly. “Way to go, Steve.”

Jensen puts the note back, closes the briefcase and reaches out for Darcy, his fingers caressing her face, tangling in her hair. He murmurs her name.

It’s dark in the back of the SUV. Not only because it’s dark outside (the faint light of dawn is just now becoming visible at the edge of the horizon) but also because the windows are tinted black.

He’s feeling frustrated; he has the sense of time slipping away, precious time he’d like to spend with Darcy, drinking in every bit of her, touching her, stroking her, tasting her ...

But she’s brittle, hyper, almost anxious, seemingly unwilling to settle.

He pulls her into his lap. She straddles him, facing him, fidgeting, her hands fluttering over his shoulders, then his arms and back to his chest.

“Darcy,” he says again, more urgently.

She kisses him.

He kisses her back, losing himself in the taste of the mint she’s been chewing, the softness of her lips, the graze of teeth ... he curls his fingers into the soft material of her t-shirt.

She’s scrambling to pull his t-shirt up.

“Shhh,” he says, grabbing at her hands, pulling them away from his shirt.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she presses.

“We don’t have enough time,” he corrects her.

She stills. Bright eyes glittering in the darkness.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks carefully, still wanting to do nothing but kiss her, trailing kisses to her ear, nipping lightly.

She shivers. “Of course.”

He pulls away reluctantly and pulls out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “When you get back, stateside,” he says uncertainly. “I was wondering if you would ... you know how I told you that we’re officially ... well dead ... to everyone?”

She takes the paper carefully and nods.

“Well, I was wondering if you could just ... carefully ... without letting on or anything ...”

“Check up on your family?” she asks softly.

“Yeah,” he nods. “And Pooch’s. He has a wife ... and Roque ... I made a list.”

She nods carefully. “Do you want me just to check up on them or do you want me to contact them?”

He nods and then shakes his head and gives a little shrug. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of risk, but I don’t want them to be sad ...”

“I’ll use my judgement,” she promises him.

“I gave some information ... some details to help, you know, convince them that you really know us, in case they get freaked out or something ... sort of trivia ...little things”

She nods, stroking his chest and his shoulders.

He takes a big shuddery breath.

“It’s ok,” she murmurs.

“It’s not,” he answers softly. “This whole thing. It’s not just about us. I keep thinking, I keep wondering how they’re doing ... without us. It’s not just that they’re without us, it’s that they think ...”

“Shhh,” Darcy murmurs, kissing him again.

His cheeks are wet.

“I wish we could take you back right now,” she whispers.

“It’s OK. I get it why you can’t,” he answers.

She shifts, sliding a little closer. His hands slide around her hips, wrapping around her waist.

“Damn, I didn’t want to end like this ... I’m ...”

“It’s Ok,” she says. “I get it. And it’s kind of sexy.”

“What is? Blubbering?”

“I like a guy who can show his feelings,” she smiles.

“Uh huh.”

“Need a distraction?” she asks lightly, loosening her shirt.

He grins, sliding his hands under her shirt, tracing the edges of her bra with his fingers.

“Nice.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re way out of my league, you know,” he mutters, kissing her again.

“No, I’m not,” she laughs. “You underestimate yourself.”

They hear the footsteps outside a moment before someone opens the door.

Jensen flinches, ducking his head, hiding his telltale red eyes.

“Christ!” Darcy exclaims. “Close the damn door. Can’t you see we’re busy here.”

“Five minute warning Darce,” the archer says bluntly, not looking in. “They’re already loaded and revving up the engines.”

“Five minutes,” she snaps.

“I’ve got your bag,” he says bluntly and slams the door shut.

Jensen sighs.

Darcy kisses him.

“Thanks,” he whispers, trailing kisses along her jaw and down to her neck.

“Mutual,” she answers. “You’ll look me up? When you get back stateside?”

“I’ve never been to New York,” he admits.

“You’ll love it.”

“As long as you’re there.”

She hesitates.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he assures her hastily.

“I know.”

Darcy chews her lip, looking at him speculatively.

“You need to go,” he reminds her.

“I’m going.”

She climbs off his lap, kisses him again messily and gets out.

Jensen can hear their footsteps crunching on the gravel as she leaves with Barton. His heart is heavy.

The end.

 


End file.
